


A-hunting we will go

by Sealgirl



Category: King Arthur: Legend of the Sword (2017)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:21:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28219893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sealgirl/pseuds/Sealgirl
Summary: When Goosefat Bill finds himself in a difficult situation, the last thing he wants is the King to show up and "help", in his own unique and unexpected way.
Relationships: Arthur/Goosefat Bill
Comments: 6
Kudos: 38
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	A-hunting we will go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tannne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tannne/gifts).



> Heart-felt thanks to ThisBlueSpirit for the lightning-fast beta.

* * *

‘Hit him again,’ Clarendon said.

Goosefat Bill looked up briefly, seeing the guard step forward and twist his shoulders. Bill tensed, as another hard blow struck his abdomen, knocking the breath out of him. He doubled forward, gasping, feeling the cut by his rib ooze out more blood. It took him a few seconds to stand up again, struggling to his feet, coughing. Bill scowled.

The things he did for his King.

Two other guards held him fast when the first guard punched him again. Bill let his head loll to the side, giving the impression of being exhausted. They put less effort into his interrogation now. These idiots had worked him over for about an hour, and they thought they knew what they were doing. He’d survived so much worse than this. These men didn’t have a fucking _clue_ what they were doing. They’d stripped him to his waist and searched him, presumably thinking he would have his tools with him. He did and they took them. The ones they could find, anyway. But Bill was sure he wouldn’t need them when it came to the end.

The leader stepped forward, and grabbed Bill’s hair, tipping his head back so they could look eye to eye. _Clarendon,_ the next English Knight in line for that name. Unfortunately, this younger, newer Clarendon was no more intelligent than his late cousin.

‘Are you ready to talk?’ Clarendon asked.

Bill only _just_ managed to stop himself rolling his eyes. He hadn’t talked yet. Maybe they were going to bore him to death. He gritted his teeth.

The things he did for his King.

One of them struck him across his back and Bill crashed to the floor, hitting his jaw and drawing blood from his lip. They might not know what they were doing, but that didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt when they hit him. He was pulled upright, then held by the guards.

‘How much do you know?’ Clarendon sneered at Bill. Instead of thinking of an answer, Bill was thinking how he was going to get himself out of this. Already they had given up on keeping a proper hold of him, thinking him too exhausted, and too old, to put up a fight. They had let their guard down, he had to keep letting them think they had the upper hand. Once he had what he needed, he had to get himself out of this. No use thinking Arthur would get his fucking act together long enough to come charging to the rescue, even if Art knew what was going o-

A stabbing pain in his shoulder stopped the thought as a guard twisted his arm.

‘How Much? Do you? _Know_?’ Clarendon repeated.

Well now, that was his problem, wasn’t it? He didn’t know anything. That was why he was in this shit now, and not cosied up back at Camelot, like _someone_ was, flouncing around with his magic sword, showing off to the-

Another stabbing pain in his shoulder brought him back to his current dilemma.

Bedivere had said -

‘ _I don’t think there is anything we need concern the King with,’ Sir Bedivere told him. Percy was shaking his head as well, and Bill scowled at them both._

‘ _Arthur will want to know,’ Bill told them. Art always wanted to know. Everything. Whether he should know was a different question. As the leader of the local gang in Londinium, Arthur_ had _needed to know everything but now, as the King of all England, there were always little things it was better for him not to know._

‘ _Three couriers have vanished in the past three weeks,’ Percy said. ‘And we don’t know what’s going on.’_

‘ _The less the King is involved the better,’ Bedivere said, arching his eyebrows._

_Bill was inclined to agree with him, though for different reasons. The first reason was that Art would have gone through the roof, and when he had calmed down he would have done a lot of shouting and gone charging off on his own. The second reason, well, Bill didn’t want to get into the second reason just then._

‘ _We can’t tell him. After he’d ripped into us, he’ll want to go himself,’ Bill reminded them._

_Bedivere nodded. Art would not have been dissuaded, especially if they’d told him (which they would have to have done) that they’d known about this for three whole weeks. Then he would have insisted that they throw their weight around and got to the bottom of it, there and then._

_That was the Brothel Boy’s way, but that was not the way the Court worked. True, Art could be a sneaky fucker when he wanted to, but to outsmart the Court Grapevine, he’d have to be a damn sight sneaker. And there was only one person who was both sneaky and secretive enough to get to the truth quickly._

_Bedivere was staring at him, with “that look”. Over the past few months since the coronation, Bill had missed “that look”. In the same way he had missed grounding barges, getting shot with arrows and breaking out of prisons. He sighed. There was no way at all they could tell Art._

‘ _Follow the courier tomorrow,’ Bedivere told him. ‘And find out what we are missing.’_

So that was what Bill had done. And that was why he was here.

And that was why he was being beaten up by three rubbish guards and interrogated by a junior member of the Camelot Court who couldn’t organise a piss-up _anywhere:_ not at an inn, not in a brewery and not in the King’s mead cellar. These men were idiots!

All of the information Bill had gathered about the group had come from Clarendon Junior himself over the previous hour. Now there was only one piece of information to find before he got the fuck out of there. One of the Barons was bankrolling this, one of the twelve good men and true of the Old-school English Establishment. And Bill was going to find out who, preferably before these men bored him to death.

He narrowed it down to one of two men, Girflet or Yvain. Time for the truth.

Clarendon Junior nodded to one of the guards, who stepped forward to hit Bill once again. This time, Bill deliberately flinched.

‘I saw Sir Girflet. I was watching him. I saw what he did,’ Bill said, glancing furtively to the guard, then back to Clarendon. There was a cold silence.

Bill focused on the man’s mouth, watching the lips move, the way his tongue curled around his teeth when he was nervous, trying not to let himself imagine what it would look like after he’d been punched _hard_.

‘You’ll never get the chance to repeat that to the King,’ Clarendon said, still managing to sneer. ‘I will make very sure of that, Sir William.’ He leaned forward ominously. ‘Very sure.’

So it was Sir Girflet. Bill gave a mental shake of his head. Girflet always was cheap even for a Baron who were, as a class, notoriously tight-fisted. If he had been serious about undermining Art, he should have shelled out good coin for men who knew one end of a torture chamber from another, not these amateurs.

Time to leave.

Clarendon was still talking, bragging, but Bill had stopped listening. When the other man paused to take a breath, Bill sagged back, and shifted his weight to his front foot, ready to act. Then, as Clarendon gave a smug smile, Bill head-butted him as hard as he could. Clarendon crumpled to the ground where Bill gave give a swift, hard kick in the face.

The three guards were even more straightforward to take out. One of them loosened their grip on his arm as Clarendon fell, presumably thinking to help the injured knight, but Bill yanked that arm free, twisting round at his hips to generate more force. He smacked his fist hard into the other guard’s face, before striking backwards with his elbow, aiming slightly upwards, and connecting with a nose. That guard fell too.

The only one left was the man who’d been hitting him so ineffectively for the previous hour. He had barely reacted while Bill had been dealing with the others. He was quite young and had been chosen for his strength rather than his skill. Now, seeing how quickly Bill had dispatched the others, he had no idea what to do except blindly lash out. And after being “interrogated” for an hour, and being at least twice the other man’s age, Bill was going to be slower.

But he was also a ruthless bastard who never played fair. He twisted his shoulders, a feint, and the guard struck out first. Bill dodged, though the punch was closer than he’d thought it would be, and hammered his knee as hard as he could between the other man’s legs. The guard howled in pain, gasping, and Bill finished him off with a straight jab to his jaw.

It was over in less than fifteen seconds. The four men were lying unconscious on the floor. Bill considered killing them outright there and then, but dismissed the thought. Art was King, there was no need for random acts of violence now war was over. Instead, Clarendon could look forward to a trial by his peers in a few days time.

This had almost been too easy.

He shook his hand, feeling the pain of the punches he’d given. It would be bruised for days. He flexed his shoulders gently, they might have been bad at getting information, but he was going to hurt for days. And there were more bruises to explain as well as the bloody cut on his torso. It would be impossible for him to keep this from Art.

He shook his head and gave a huff. The things he did for his King. Even if his King did not _always_ appreciate it.

As Bill looked around for his shirt, he heard noises from outside the door, far off, but still distinct brought his attention back to the present situation. Bill cursed. He was still in an enemy stronghold, he was still on his own and he was still outnumbered. Getting cocky was _not_ going to help him keep still alive. What use was all the information he’d gathered if he didn’t get it back to Bedivere, and himself back to Art?

He waited for the footsteps to pass, but instead they grew louder.

Bill tensed, and crouched behind the door. There were at least three sets of footsteps. He didn’t have any weapons, and he would struggle to take on more than two, depending on how competent they were. If they were like the guards in here, then maybe he could take three before things got a little _dicey_.

The door handle turned. Bill stepped back flat against the wall and went absolutely still. This might be harder than he’d thought. But he would still have the advantage of surprise. If he was quick, then-

The door swung open.

He’d only just started to almost take a half-step forward when there was a strange blur of movement in the room, something he couldn’t focus on. Then suddenly he felt the tip of a sword at his Adam’s apple.

He looked up into startlingly blue eyes. Art.

And he looked _pissed_.

They stayed frozen in place, glaring at each other, and Bill slowly became aware that there were other people following behind the King, swords drawn. Percy. Wetstick. Bedivere. The whole crew. The. WHOLE. CREW.

They were all staring at him as well. _Fuck_!

Bill’s anger flared in turn, not caring how angry his King was with him. This was almost as embarrassing as it could get. The king had brought everyone. To rescue him. As if he was some sort of novice at this.

Furious, Bill grabbed the blade of Excaliber and pushed it sideways away from his throat.

‘My name is _Goosefat_ Bill,’ he growled, stepping closer to the King, knowing how much Art hated to have his personal space invaded like that. ‘I _have_ managed to get out of prisons on my own before, you know.’

From the doorway, Sir Bedivere shrugged, looking towards Art.

‘I told you what he would say,’ Bedivere said.

Art didn’t reply. Instead, his eyes raked down over Bill’s exposed torso, looking at the cuts and the darkening bruises. He stopped at Bill’s waist, then looked up sharply, frowning in concern. It was an expression Bill hadn’t expected.

Neither of them spoke. As they continued to try and out-stare each other, Percy, Bedivere and the others started to clear the room of the unconscious men. Neither Bill nor Arthur paid any attention.

‘Let’s leave them to fight it out,’ Percy said in an unnaturally loud whisper. The others murmured their agreement.

‘What are _you_ doing?’ Arthur demanded when they were alone.

Oh, _yes_ , the other reason that telling the King was a bad idea. Art would have tried to stop him. In the previous months, Arthur had become adept at finding out what he was up to, and at somehow _accidentally_ managing to stop him doing anything dangerous.

‘My job,’ Bill replied. ‘I’m a spy. You’re the one who’s King around here. The rest of us want to keep it that way.’ Arthur reached out, as if to wipe the blood from a small cut Bill’s lip, almost derailing his attempt at being angry. ‘And, as a spy, I don’t need you to come riding in to find me with the whole of Camelot at your back as if I’m a… as if I’m a…’

As he spoke, Bill realised that Art wasn’t glaring at him any more. He was staring at his mouth in a way that sent a warm burst of heat through Bill’s chest.

There was, of course, an alternative explanation for the King’s actions. In the past, Bill hadn’t let himself entertain that thought for longer than a fleeting moment as it was as _desperately_ compelling as it was impossible. But now it was all he could think about. His own gaze drifted to Arthur’s mouth and the rush of heat through his body grew more intense. It was as if they were about to-

‘Boss!’

Both men jerked apart, then Percy poked his head round the door.

‘More trouble! We should go.’

Bill saw the King’s hand tighten around Excalibur’s handle, then the king stepped in front of Bill in a distinctly protective kind of way. The gesture sent a shiver down Bill’s spine.

Art glanced over his shoulder, once again dragging his gaze over Bill’s chest and abdomen. This time, there was something very different in his eyes.

‘Those cuts need stitches,’ Arthur said firmly. Bill snorted and was about to say something rude, when Art continued. ‘I’ve very good with a needle. Among other things.’

A sense of anticipation rushed through him. The things he did for his King. Maybe this time there was something the King would do for _him_.

With a slow smile, Bill nodded.

* * *


End file.
